An Inner Fire (16 page)

Hollie paused before her answer. “I’ll try. But if anyone gives you any shit. I’ll….”

“No.” Grayce’s response seemed to echo off the roof of the cramped car. She tried for a more conciliatory tone. “Hollie, you can be friendly while you pass out the cigarettes.”

“You’re giving out cigarettes? This evening is getting better. I’ll smoke with them.”

James was perennially trying to stop smoking. Grayce wasn’t about to get sidetracked, arguing about smoking and its health hazards. “You know you really don’t need to smoke tonight. You know how bad they are for you.”

“I don’t need to, but what if I want to?”

She cleared her throat, striving to regain control over the adolescents, “Okay, so we’re all agreed. I’ll take the lead, and when I say it’s done, we leave.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Grayce maneuvered her car into the small space in Belltown. “James, read the sign. Am I okay to park here?”

James leaned out the window. Street parking was always tight in Belltown, quite a change from the days when this was Denny Re-grade, home to Seattle’s homeless. Now hip and sexy, Belltown flowed with the highly paid thirty-something crowd. Upscale restaurants and condos mixed with shelters, missions, and community services, a daily reminder of Seattle’s other population.

“James, what does the sign say?”

“Parking for two hours. No problemo.”

Trying to bring harmony back to the troops, Grayce offered words she knew no one believed, “Finding this spot is a good omen.”

From the unhappy backseat. “Whatever.” Hollie obviously wasn’t pleased about her role of passing out cigarettes.

James opened his door. “Might I point out, parking a red Subaru at the corner isn’t too undercover.”

“Who said anything about undercover? I want to make sure we can get out of here,” Grayce said.

“I was thinking along the lines of a slow getaway to El Gaucho for martinis. What has Grayce promised you, kid? I get Grey Goose for this evening’s work.”

Hollie climbed out of the backseat and gave James an exasperated look.

Grayce came around the car to the sidewalk. The evening had the feeling of warm spring. She inhaled deeply and waited for the wafts of damp grass, hyacinths and lilacs. Instead she got noxious car fumes, the kind you could taste on your teeth.

James stood with his hands on his hips, inspecting Grayce’s attire. “My gawd, please tell me I’m in a bad dream. What’s that black thing?”

“I found it in my parent’s closet.”

“Black trench coat with tennis shoes—Dear Lord, I hope you’re not naked underneath.”

Grayce ignored James’ fashion-faux pas-stare-of-horror, and locked the car.

Hollie demanded, “Is fashion the only thing you think about?”

Great, the troops were back to arguing.

James raised his eyes to the sky. “Does the woman dare to ask me what I think about? Honey, in deference to Grayce’s wishes and your obvious youth, my lips are sealed.” With a grand motion, James locked his lips and threw away the key.

Hollie smirked almost into a smile. Leave it to James to get Hollie out of her funk.

“Honey, you know what they say, if you’re talking about it, you ain’t gettin’ it.”

“James…you promised.”

“Okay, okay.” James put his arm around Grayce’s shoulder. They started, three abreast, down the sidewalk.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate tennis shoes?”

“James…” She pleaded for the fiftieth time.

“Grayce, you worry too much. Tonight is about dressing up and having a cig in the name of saving that hot fire investigator. By the way, Hollie dear, you didn’t buy any of those menthol girly cigs, did you?”

Hollie reached into her blue jean jacket and flashed a pack of cigarettes. “Do Camels meet with your manly approval?”

James reached over and pinched Hollie’s check. “Don’t get sassy with me, girl.”

“Boss, is this where Davis almost went down?”

“Pretty close, the end of this block.” Grayce pointed to the empty corner. “Second and Bell.”

James scrunched his lips together in a pout. “All dressed up and no homeless to talk with.”

“Strange to see it deserted. When Davis and I were here, there were loads of people lolling around,” Grayce said.

“Everyone is down on first. It’s Thursday night, bar night, the night for roaming singles,” James said.

Hollie shot a serious look at James. “We stand around and wait and try not to attract attention to ourselves.”

“What fun is there in that?”

Grayce stopped walking, put her hands on her hips and stared at James.

“I’ll behave. But you must see the humor in this evening.” Met with silence, James sighed theatrically. “God, give me a cigarette.”

Hollie dug into her jacket and pulled out the pack.

“So authentic.” James took one and rolled it between his fingers. Next, he held it to his nose.

Hollie stood, poised with matches. “Man, you gonna smoke it?”

“It’s been three months and I’m savoring the moment.”

“You really don’t need to smoke.” Grayce couldn’t stop the reprimand. She really hated being the only responsible adult on this field trip.

James placed the cigarette between his full lips. “Light it, baby.”

Hollie struck the match and leaned toward James. He inhaled deeply and slowly, blew out smoke rings. The smoke lingered under the street light. “Do I look like James Dean?” He leaned against the street light. “How about Brando?”

Within minutes of James’ theatrical antics, a man staggered toward them, his progress irregular. He swayed side to side.

Grayce felt his emptiness etch into her soul. She hated to watch human wretchedness and not be able to do anything to alleviate it.

“Got a fag?” He asked.

Complete silence followed except for a sound resembling gagging. Hollie’s face was contorted in pain, the pain of trying not to crack up laughing.

James rolled his eyes as only a dramatic diva could, but restrained himself from speaking.

Hollie reached for the packet. “Sure.”

Deep pock marks lined the man’s craggy face, his alcoholic heritage etched in his bulbous nose and red eyes.

Hollie lit the cigarette and handed it to him. His hand shook when he took it.

No one spoke. Grayce could smell cheap liquor and the stench of his dirty clothes.

Hollie’s face showed no reaction except for her whisper, “Move on.”

“Thanks.” With his slurred appreciation, he shuffled down Second Avenue.

“Probably a relative,” Hollie muttered under her breath.

James tweaked her nose. “Nah, your nose is smaller.” He took a deep draw from his cigarette. “Tell me what you plan to tell Davis about tonight, Grayce?”

She didn’t know.

“You’re not planning to tell him?”

“I don’t know if I can explain why I needed to do this.”

Grayce and James exchanged looks, a look that spoke of a long-term understanding and acceptance. Thank God for James’ friendship. He never asked for explanations, never hinted that her request was crazy or strange. He was just trying to make the evening into a funny adventure.

She paid no attention to James and Hollie’s discussion of tattoos until she spotted two men approaching them. There was at least a six inch height discrepancy between them. Both were dressed in the same brown oversized down jackets. The tall man dragged his feet with his boots untied. He wore multiple socks of different colors, obvious donations from a shelter, like the identical coats.

Dressed in fatigues, the older man had the hood of his coat wrapped around his head even though the autumn evening was balmy. His generous pink lips curved and softened his worn, black face. “Got one to spare?” He looked directly at James.

Hollie answered, “Yeah, why not?” She pulled out two and handed them over with the matches.

“My buddy don’t smoke. I’ll keep ’em for later.” The older man took the cigarettes and carefully placed them into zipped jacket pocket. The tall one’s mouth hung open with a vacant stare.

Grayce stood close to the older man. His muted pain, the suffering in his eyes, enveloped her. He had been making do his whole life and had no expectation of anything different. Hope had been beaten out of him.

Hollie spoke first, “This used to be the place.”

“It’s early.” The older man didn’t seem the talkative type, but his eyes warmed when Grayce smiled at him. The streetlight gave a yellow hue to his eyes—aging or liver failure.

James grabbed her by the elbow and whispered, “We’re here to ask questions, not save lost souls.”

She nodded, but it didn’t stop her from absorbing the man’s pain. She touched his arm. “I was here a few weeks back and there were lots of men standing around on this corner.”

“You folks ain’t lookin’ for drugs, are ya?”

“Nah. We’re just sightseeing,” Hollie answered.

“This ain’t the corner.” The old man leaned toward Grayce. “Cops all over. They know Old Joe…they know I ain’t doin’ nothin’. Not Tom here neither.”

Grayce was confused. Did he think they wanted drugs? The younger man kept smiling. She didn’t think he was high, but what did she know?

Joe pointed to the young man. Tom’s grizzly Adam’s apple bobbed, drool pooled on his lower lip. He seemed to have difficulty synchronizing his swallowing. She wasn’t very knowledgeable about human disabilities, but Tom had some type of motor problem. It was also evident that Joe looked out for Tom.

“We’re not looking for drugs. We want to ask some questions.”

Hollie rolled her eyes at Grayce telling their purpose. James continued smoking.

Hollie moved in front of the man and took out a fresh pack of Camels. “There’s a pack of cigarettes if you can answer our questions.”

A glint emerged in Joe’s eyes. “I might be able to help.”

Grayce asked, “Where are all the men?”

“The police keep comin’ down here. People go to other places when the cops are around.”

“Really?” Grayce scanned the area. A man stood across the street in the shadows, waiting or watching. The light of his cigarette flickered in the dark.

Ole Joe watched her. “The police not here yet, too early.”

Hollie asked, “Why are the cops hangin’ around?”

Joe hesitated. Hollie raised both of her eyebrows in question and played with the pack of cigarettes.

“Keep askin’ about a dude who tried to stab a guy.”

“You know about the stabbing?” Grayce’s heart knocked against her chest, forcing her breath to tighten.

Joe turned toward Grayce.

“You sure you’re not a cop?” Joe’s rheumy eyes moved up and down, taking in her tennis shoes, tattered black raincoat.

“Do I look like I’m with the police?”

Joe’s moist lips curved. “Guess not.”

“Please tell me what you know about the stabbing.”

“A dude tried to stab someone important. I’m thinking an undercover cop. The police keep coming down, askin’ the same questions.”

Her heart knocking had turned to deep thuds resonating from her chest into her head. “What questions? Do you know the guy?”

Joe chuckled, his voice raspy. “Nah, don’t know anyone important.” He was enjoying playing with them.

Hollie stepped closer to Joe, her relaxed pose gone. If she were a dog, her ears and tail would’ve been pointed in the air, ready for the attack. “Do you know the guy who did the stabbing?”

“Nah, by the way the police are acting, he’s someone,” Joe drawled out the last word.

Hollie leaned on one hip, waiting. James blew smoke rings.

“The police keep askin’ if Ole Joe has seen him.”

Hollie switched the pack of Camels into her other hand, crumpling the paper. “Well, have you?”

“For a few weeks, he just hung here and now he’s disappeared. But, like I told the police, there are lots of guys who show up for a while then split. No big deal, but the police think it’s a big deal…you know they gotta protect all the people up there.” Joe pointed to the condos towering over Second Avenue.

“So the guy wasn’t a drug user?” Grayce cringed at how lame that sounded.

“He stood around and never spoke to anyone. I asked him for a cig. He gave me one, it was foreign and he talked like he wasn’t from here.”

Little pinpricks of expectation ran from her stomach to her fingers and toes. “Where do you think he was from?”

“Don’t know, but he wasn’t a Mexican. They all hang under the bridge.” Joe pointed down to Western Avenue.

A disheveled youth in shirt sleeves with tattoos covering each arm strode toward their little group. Grayce felt her neck hairs stand on alert. Like Hollie with her street swagger, this kid had mastered the aggressive attitude of alpha of the pack. “Don’t mess with me” was written all over his walk.

James dropped his cigarette and crushed it with
savoir faire
.

The kid’s pupils were constricted and a sheen of perspiration was beaded on his forehead. His coiled energy rushed out in a single breath. “What do we have here?”